


Obi-Wan Down (or the plague-sickfic you didn't know you needed)

by wolfiefics



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anything for the ANgst, I wrote this when I was sick, M/M, Qui-Gon's a mess, and the happy ending, any resemblance to COVD-19 entirely coincidental, made up science because I said so, no it wasn't COVID, plague/sick fic, yes I'm aware that's not how vaccines work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfiefics/pseuds/wolfiefics
Summary: Sent to Drago Prime to find out how the Republic can help the planet during a global-wide pandemic, Obi-Wan contracts the illness and is dying. Qui-Gon is lost. However, the Jedi Healer Vokara Che is not giving up. Together the two Jedi Masters save Obi-Wan, and the planet. (i.e. The plague fic you didn't know you needed, but I wrote anyway while in self-isolation). Hey, someone had to do it.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know, the title's awful. I'm willing to take suggestions, however. So please, suggest away. I wanted to go with "Love in the Time of the Drago Prime Virus" but I got shot down by just about everybody. As my tag states, yes, I know vaccines don't work the way I've written it, but hey, the universe is a weird place. It _could_ happen. Comic-book science, people, comic-book science. Grain of salt and all that.

Drago Prime was a small planet along the Thursta Trade Route. It was a mostly self-sufficient little planet but afforded travelers a place to stay and repair ships damaged in constant space travel. They did some imports and exports and had only joined the Galactic Republic some forty years ago. Qui-Gon Jinn’s own master had negotiated Drago Prime’s admittance into the Republic, so he knew all about the planet having visited it as a padawan to Master Dooku. He really never thought he’d return and never under these circumstances.

He was older, no longer a padawan, but bringing his own padawan with him. Obi-Wan Kenobi was a serious, brave, and highly intelligent man of twenty-two, on the cusp of gaining his knighthood, if only Qui-Gon could bear to let him go. Qui-Gon had watched his own master fall away from the Jedi Order from loneliness and disillusionment in his older years. Qui-Gon, approaching his mid-fifties himself, did not want to go that way. Obi-Wan was a bright light in his life, the young man’s Force presence flowing through Qui-Gon and making him feel twenty years younger.

Or perhaps that was the lust talking.

For Qui-Gon Jinn was guilty of having fallen in love with his apprentice. He kept it to himself, buried deep within so that no one would know, would suspect. It wasn’t frowned upon but it wasn’t encouraged either. And Obi-Wan was young, handsome, talented; what would he want with his broken-down old master?

Their starship, a small Republic corvette, came out of hyperspace and the blue jewel that was Drago Prime floated before the two Jedi and their pilot. The pilot hailed the planet, requesting permission to land.

“Sers,” came the space port’s response, “you understand we are engulfed in a planet-wide plague? We cannot guarantee your safety.”

Qui-Gon spoke up. “We are Jedi. We come to help in any way we can.”

There was a pause and then the space port operator said respectfully, “Yes, ser Jedi. Please land at landing pad Alpha 3 at these coordinates.” The pilot accepted the coordinates, plugged them into the nav computer and Qui-Gon turned to his apprentice.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Obi-Wan straightened up his already ramrod stiff posture and gave his master a firm nod. “Yes, Master.”

“We should don the protective gear then.” Qui-Gon turned to the pilot. “For your own safety, please remain aboard the ship until we leave. If you need to leave for any reason, please use the safety gear provided by our healers.”

The pilot gave a brisk nod of acknowledgement as he piloted the craft through the atmosphere. Satisfied that the pilot understood, Qui-Gon led his apprentice out of the cockpit and into the interior of the little starship to where the hazmat gear was stored.

Drago Prime had reported an influx of illnesses and deaths in the last six tens. The virulence of the virus completely took the government and medical care system by surprise. The death toll was mounting. The government had sent out an immediate alert and barred anyone from landing that could go elsewhere and transmit the contagion. They then sent a plea for assistance to Galactic Republic. The Senate, in its usual bogged down procedures, was taking its time making a decision on how to help. In the meantime, they requested the Jedi send emissaries to take stock of the situation, garner more information and report back to the Senate.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were only expected to be planetside no more than a week, less if possible. Drago Prime’s authorities were still uncertain how it spread, though theories abounded. Thus the heavy protection for the two Jedi. Thus far, the plague had not gotten off-planet. Two Jedi spreading it around could be catastrophic. 

The ship touched down on the assigned landing pad and, clad in their protective gear, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan exited the ship, making sure the hatch was firmly closed behind them as soon as their feet hit solid ground. A lone space port official waited on them, looking harried and exhausted. A cloth mask covered most of his face, an oddly cheerful floral pattern at odds with the mask’s intended use of protection.

“Ser Jedi, you are what the Republic sends us?” The man, Qui-Gon knew, didn’t mean to sound so frustrated and perturbed, despite the fact that he was. Fear of one’s mortality could make one waspish.

“We have come to ascertain exactly what is going on for a better understanding of what the Republic Senate can do,” Qui-Gon told the man calmly, his voice slightly distorted by his helmet.

The man swallowed heavily. “Planetary news reported this morning that they’ve identified that some people show no symptoms, are carriers and unaffected but infecting others as they move about.”

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan start at that but he focused on the man before him. “Can you please tell someone in command that we are here?”

The Dragoan looked trapped. “All of our government officials are in protective isolation. I could take you to the hospitals, you could speak with some administrators, I guess.”

Qui-Gon frowned. He needed to talk to someone collating data. A single hospital administrator was not going to have the detailed, planet-wide information the Senate needed to formulate an aid package.

Bowing to the man anyway, Qui-Gon said in a calm, reassuring tone, “Please, as you see fit.”

The man nodded and led the two Jedi further into the port’s concourse. Qui-Gon was reassured with Obi-Wan three steps behind and to his right, where he should be.

The space port was full of empty, closed up shops. Cage doors were locked against looters. None of the mechanic shops outside the main concourse were open either, heavy padlocks hanging from the metal garage doors. As the two Jedi and their guide left the space port to a few speeders waiting in a parking lot, Qui-Gon took the time to get a sense in the Living Force of his surroundings.

Normally he could pick up the pulse of a planet, its energy. The natural world of any planet had a distinct signature that he could pick up in the Living Force. Usually it was a soft green warmth, variegated like a plant leaf. However, Drago Prime’s energy was muted, dark at the edges like a plant dying from too much light or not enough water. Like perhaps the planet was dying.

Disconcerted, Qui-Gon’s steps faltered as he struggled to push the negative sensations away. He felt Obi-Wan’s touch on his arm even through the thick fabric of his protective suit. “Master?” Obi-Wan’s voice was concerned.

Qui-Gon, with a force of will, shook off the negativity and turned so he could see his apprentice. “I am fine, Obi-Wan,” he assured the younger man. He resumed his path toward the speeder that the space port employee was taking them to. He was relieved that Obi-Wan didn’t press the issue. Through their training bond, though, he could feel Obi-Wan’s slight worry. Undoubtedly, he could pick up Qui-Gon’s unease.

The speeder ride was uneventful and disheartening. Traffic around the planet’s capital city was sparse. There was very little pedestrian traffic. The only businesses open that they could see were essentials, such as food markets. The memory he had of busy streets, cheerful people, and a thriving if isolated economy was at odds with current reality.

The speeder pulled up to what was clearly a hospital. Their space port guide said nervously, “I hope you don’t mind just letting you off. I need to get back to my post.”

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan disembarked. “Of course. Our thanks, ser,” Qui-Gon assured him but it was over the engine of the speeder as it went into gear and left.

“I don’t think we’re going to like what we find here, Master,” came Obi-Wan’s quiet prediction.

Qui-Gon heaved a sigh and turned to his apprentice. “I fear you are right, Padawan. Come. Let’s see if we can find someone in charge.” 

The two Jedi entered the multi-storied facility. It was controlled chaos. Orderlies and nurses were hurried but not running. Masks covered all their faces and their hands were covered with blue protective medial gloves. All of their faces were lined with exhaustion and a hint of fear. Fear permeated the Force here, making Qui-Gon a bit nauseated.

Someone finally noticed them and approached. “May I help you?” The orderly was male, as dark-skinned as Mace Windu, with kind if tired brown eyes. His uniform was wrinkled and around the mask there were bruises, as if he’d worn it for a long time tight against his skin.

“I am Master Qui-Gon Jinn and this is my apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi. We are Jedi sent by the Galactic Senate to find out what assistance the Republic can offer in this crisis. Is there someone we can talk to?” Qui-Gon kept his tone even, assured and confident, infusing his Force presence with the same.

The orderly looked taken aback. “You should be speaking with someone in the government!” he exclaimed.

“When we hailed the planet, only a lone space port operator answered. He told us the government is in protective isolation,” Qui-Gon explained.

The orderly’s expression, what Qui-Gon could see of it, darkened and he muttered something that was no doubt unflattering about the government under his breath. He motioned to the two Jedi and said, “Come with me. I’ll take you the hospital administrator. Hopefully she can get you to the people you need to talk to.”

“We thank you,” Qui-Gon replied with a bow. It was difficult to do gracefully in the stiff, protective gear. Obi-Wan bowed as well. 

They followed the orderly through various corridors to a lift. Though there was talking, it was hushed, low. The patient room doors were all closed. Actual flimsy charts were attached to each door. Datapads, Qui-Gon realized with a jolt, were a touch point, a potential contaminating touch point. Flimsi could be incinerated. But why couldn’t the datapads be disinfected?

They entered the lift and the orderly pressed a button for an upper floor. “Our administrator is Lofa Yung,” the orderly told them. “Like us, she’s been here almost non-stop since the outbreak began.”

“How widespread is it?” Qui-Gon asked.

“Planetary now,” the orderly replied. “It started on one of the smaller continents that has a large, cramped population. What is dangerous is that this virus has a long contagious period, up to two weeks, before an infected person starts showing symptoms. By then they’ve unknowingly potentially infected everyone they’ve been in contact with.”

“Are there any of the population immune?” asked Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon sent a wave of approval through their bond to the younger Jedi.

The orderly shook his head. “Not that we can determine. We’re still not exactly sure how it transmits. We think absorption through the skin that has touched a contaminated surface but it could also be by merely breathing in the contamination. We just don’t know.” The orderly’s frustration got the better of him and his posture sagged with near-defeat.

Qui-Gon placed his gloved hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed. “I know you are weary, worried and afraid for yourself, your loved ones and those you minister to. I assure you, I will do all in my power to bring home the seriousness of the situation and get as much help for you and your people as I can.”

The orderly straightened up when the lift doors opened. His brown eyes seemed to smile gratefully at Qui-Gon’s words but the man said nothing as he led them down a long corridor filled with what were obviously business offices.

He knocked on a door that was slightly ajar. “Administrator Yung?”

“Yes, come in.” The feminine voice within sounded as exhausted as everyone else the Jedi had spoken with or heard.

The orderly opened the door the rest of the way and ushered the Jedi in. “These are Jedi, representing the Republic. They’ve come to see what we need, how the Republic can help.”

Administrator Yung was an older woman, likely Qui-Gon’s age, perhaps a year or two younger. Her black hair was streaked with gray and was grayed at the temples as well. Her eyes, a green so bright that it resembled the color of Qui-Gon’s lightsaber, took in their protective gear and her mouth turned down into a frown.

“Taking no precautions?” she asked caustically, motioning to their gear.

“We had no idea how virulent the epidemic is. We did not want to accidentally contaminate off-world,” Qui-Gon explained. “Once we are back aboard our ship, the gear will be incinerated.”

She considered that and then nodded. “That should be enough precaution. Perhaps a slight overkill, pardon the expression, but all things considered a good plan.” She sat back in her chair, steepled her fingers together and eyed their faces through their transparent plastic facial openings. “Why are you here and not speaking with someone in the government?”

Qui-Gon explained again their landing and how they came to be at her facility. She blew out a frustrated breath and scowled even as she picked up a comm unit and punched in a code. “This is Administrator Yung at North Gam Hospital. I have two Jedi representing the Galactic Republic needing to speak to the President.”

There was a squawk from the other end and then a voice clearly said, “Please offer them hospitality and we will send someone to get them shortly.”

Administrator Yung frowned when the transmission abruptly cut off almost rudely. She set the comm unit down and gestured for them to seat themselves in the two empty chairs before her desk. “Please, sit, gentlemen. I’m afraid I can’t offer much ‘hospitality’,” she said, emphasizing the last word ironically. “All our resources are stretched thin. The virus has hit the capital city hard. Imports from other regions for things like food and medical supplies are slow. I’ve been forcing my staff to eat at least once a day because they are no use to anyone if they are faint from hunger.”

“They won’t eat because that takes food from the sick?” Obi-Wan asked delicately.

She nodded and sighed. She put her head in her hands, a picture of defeat. She sat like that for several long moments before she looked up again, a more determined look on her face. “How is the Republic willing to help us?”

“We need to know what is needed,” Qui-Gon told her. “We need the specifics of the virus to perhaps send physical aid from species immune to it. The transmissions from your government regarding the nature of the virus have been either incomplete or contradictory. Currently, the Republic is having various medical research facilities investigating what your government has sent. But we need to know what you need on the ground: medical supplies, food stuffs, help running power facilities if need be.”

Administrator Yung looked thoughtful. “We need medical supplies,” she noted. “Masks, gloves, sterilized garb, ventilators.”

Qui-Gon blinked. “Ventilators? That’s rather specific,” he noted.

She blew out a frustrated breath. “The virus affects the lungs, compromising it in those more susceptible to its ravages. We need the ventilators to help those severely affected breathing until they heal enough to come off it. At first the virus did the most damage with the elderly or immune-compromised individuals. They were more at-risk to permanent damage or death. However recently we think it’s mutated. Children are now being affected and dying. The young and healthy with no preexisting conditions are becoming severely ill.” Her voice as she spoke grew more agitated and she slammed a fist down on her desk as she ended in a near-shout, “We just can’t figure out what it’s doing!”

Qui-Gon stood up and crossed behind her desk. He placed both hands on her shoulders as he stood behind her and squeezed gently. He infused the Force around her with calm and light. His unusual talent with the Living Force allowed him to go into her Force aura and calm her frustrated nerves. After a moment, she sagged in her chair, relaxed and more at peace.

Qui-Gon went back to his chair and waited for her to speak once more. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Is that a Jedi thing? Calming people down?”

Qui-Gon couldn’t help but smile. “Sometimes. You have a small affinity to the Force. I could feel it when I entered the room. I just help calm your Force aura. You are understandably tense. I wanted to offer you a moment’s peace, Administrator.”

She gave him a small smile. “I thank you,” and here she paused, as if realizing she had never gotten their names.

“I am Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn,” he told her. He turned to his apprentice and placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “This is my apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

She gave a small, if sincere smile. “I wish you were visiting my planet under better circumstances, gentlemen.”

“I have been here before,” he told her and at her look of surprise he continued, “My own mentor brokered Drago Prime’s admittance into the Republic.”

Her brow creased a moment in thought. “His name started with a D,” she murmured.

“Dooku,” Qui-Gon supplied, ignoring the pang of regret at the thought of his old master.

“Yes.” She gave another small smile. “He gave us great honor in representing us.”

“We live to serve,” Qui-Gon replied with a bowed head.

“As do I, Master Jedi, as do I.” She stood up. “In the meantime, let me get some information on our issues at this hospital specifically. Perhaps you can use it as an example of what is happening throughout the planet when you give your findings to the Senate.”

Qui-Gon murmured an appropriate response but was distracted by a sense of unease from Obi-Wan. When the administrator had left them alone to gather the information for them, he turned to his apprentice. “What is it?” he asked.

Through the small face port, he could see Obi-Wan’s small frown of concern. “I’m not sure, Master,” Obi-Wan confessed. “I wanted to cough, like something was restricting my lungs. But how can that be? Our suits have a built-in air purifier. Any contaminates would be instantly brushed away.”

Qui-Gon felt a premonitory chill race down his spine. Coughing was one of the signs of the virus. Yet Obi-Wan was right. Their suits were literally enclosed, sterile environments. Nothing should be able to breach it.

“Perhaps it was a sympathetic cough?” suggested Qui-Gon, despite the nagging at the back of his mind. “You are tuning into the patients of the hospital, maybe.”

Obi-Wan looked relieved at the explanation. “Yes,” he agreed. “That must be it.”

They sat in companionable silence, Qui-Gon attempting to ignore the alarm blaring in his mind. Logic told him Obi-Wan couldn’t be infected in so short a time on planet and wearing the protective gear the entire time. The sickness of the residents of the facility were merely jangling his touch of the Living Force, that was all.

Administrator Yung returned with three datapads. She handed them to Qui-Gon. “If I gave you flimsis, it would take a crate to haul it around,” she told him wryly.

“You aren’t using datapads because they are a contamination touch point?” Obi-Wan asked.

She nodded. “I mean, technically it might still infect with flimsi but anyplace that relied heavily on datapads, such as libraries, business offices and archives, seemed to have a higher rate of infected. Even if they wiped the datapads down after use. Flimsi is only being used for essential business. Most of the population is under self-isolation. Only one person can leave for supplies. The less people moving around the more contained we can make it. Or at least that’s the plan.”

Filing that information away Qui-Gon turned on the top data pad and reviewed its contents. He was no healer, with just enough basic ability in healing using the Force to be effective in a field situations. What he was looking at was way beyond his knowledge base.

He flipped through the information on the other two datapads while they waited. He was reading through the list of manufacturing companies converting their facilities into making needed medical supplies. While helpful, many companies were having to completely reinvent themselves and that took precious time. It wasn’t something that could be done quickly. 

As his eyes skimmed he was suddenly pulled out of his contemplation by a discreet cough from Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon tensed and then forced himself to relax. It happened again, this time harsher. He looked up to see the administrator frowning at Obi-Wan.

“Apprentice Kenobi, are you well?”

Qui-Gon caught the embarrassed look his apprentice gave her. “It’s nothing, Administrator,” Obi-Wan told her. “Our attunement with the Force is no doubt giving me sympathetic reactions.”

“Your master isn’t doing that,” she noted, her frown deepening.

“We are differently attuned to the Force,” Obi-Wan told her before submitting to a full-blown coughing fit.

She stood up immediately and was at Obi-Wan’s side before Qui-Gon could even react. She began firing questions at his apprentice and, to Qui-Gon’s alarm, Obi-Wan answered most of them with a confused affirmation.

“Out of that suit,” she snapped. “It’s doing you no good.”

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to protest but she shot him a fierce look that stayed his words. He gave Obi-Wan’s inquiring look a nod to tell him to comply. Obi-Wan began the laborious work of shedding the protective gear. His face, somewhat distorted by the hood, was reddened with what Qui-Gon realized was fever.

“Do you suspect he’s infected?” Qui-Gon asked, marveling that his voice was so calm. Obi-Wan, however, tensed, their bond flooding with disbelief.

“He’s showing all the symptoms,” she confirmed and slapped a thermometer strip on Obi-Wan’s head.

“How could he be symptomatic so quickly?”

Obi-Wan jerked away when she removed the thermometer. “I’m fine,” he protested.

Qui-Gon reached out through their bond. “Open your shields,” he commanded softly. He felt Obi-Wan’s social shields drop and Qui-Gon reached within Obi-Wan’s Force presence, sifting through what he knew his apprentice felt like in the Force. His heart constricted. She was right. Obi-Wan was showing signs of physical strain that Qui-Gon knew from previous experience indicated his apprentice was sick.

“How?” he repeated.

She looked helpless. “I don’t know.” Her voice was agonized. “I’ve never seen them develop so fast. Or heard of it either. It takes several weeks to show symptoms.”

Qui-Gon reached for the shed protective gear, searching for any sign of unnoticed damage. He found it, a small rent by the closure. The closure closest to the face. He looked up Obi-Wan, whose blue-green eyes were all but wild as he protested the conclusion of the administrator.

Qui-Gon rose from his chair and the administrator moved away instinctively. With his full height he looked down on his beloved Obi-Wan, who fell silent at the unconscious intimidation technique. “Obi-Wan, you are ill. I can feel it in the Force. Your suit was compromised. We must allow the healers here to do what they can to mitigate your reactions.”

He saw that Obi-Wan wanted to protest some more, stringently deny it. The ingrained habit of following his master’s commands, however, overrode his protests and Obi-Wan deflated and nodded in obedience. Qui-Gon embraced Obi-Wan, wishing he could feel the younger man’s body heat through his suit, wished there wasn’t the restrictive chasm between them. He could feel through the bond Obi-Wan’s apprehension and a touch of fear, that he was struggling to release into the Force.

Qui-Gon let go and turned to Adminstrator Yung. “What must we do?”

She chewed her lip. “I need to contact our government health department. We need to do blood tests. Test to make sure it is the virus and not a fluke, though I don’t think it is. We need to find out why and how he’s affected so quickly. This could compromise any off-planet help. In the meantime, let me find some doctors, someplace for your apprentice to lay down for now.” She looked at Qui-Gon helplessly, wordlessly apologizing for a situation she had no control over.

“We thank you,” Qui-Gon told her, quelling his own fears. Obi-Wan was young, virile, healthy. Many young people recovered with minimal issues from this virus. ‘But this isn’t acting like it does for anyone else,’ a little voice chimed in his head. He ruthlessly ignored it.

“Master-“ Obi-Wan began but a coughing fit stopped his words. Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan to him once more.

“I know,” Qui-Gon told him. He didn’t know what Obi-Wan was going to say but all he could offer was reassurances he wasn’t really feeling. “I know.”

Obi-Wan sagged in his arms when the coughing subsided, wheezing in air. Qui-Gon swallowed his worry and concentrated on the moment. He was always chiding Obi-Wan to focus on the here and now. Qui-Gon was having difficulty doing that now when he needed it the most.

What if Obi-Wan died? Could Qui-Gon bear to have another apprentice torn from him before he was ready? Especially being in love with him?

He was roused from his thoughts when Obi-Wan’s full weight sagged in his arms. The bond went blank. To Qui-Gon’s horror, he realized Obi-Wan was unconscious. Qui-Gon dropped to the floor, cradling Obi-Wan and shouting for help.

A somewhat problematic mission had now become a nightmare.


	2. Chapter 2

A governor was speaking to him. Qui-Gon needed to pay attention. With considerable effort, he pulled his attention to the masked man before him. The man’s hair was orange-red and it clashed with his pink fabric face mask. The many homemade masks Qui-Gon had seen the last day and night had been a variety of fabrics and patterns. No doubt made with whatever was to hand by whoever manufactured them.

“Master Jinn?” The governor looked as if he’d repeated that several times, his tone slightly impatient and worried at the same time.

“I’m sorry, Governor,” Qui-Gon said with a small smile he definitely didn’t feel. 

“We have transmitted everything we know about this virus to the scientists and healers the Senate referenced. We have also sent all of your apprentice’s information to your healers at the Jedi Temple.”

Qui-Gon bowed his head, looking serene but not feeling it at all. “I have been unable to speak with anyone regarding my apprentice in the last few hours. What has been discovered?”

“Well, I’m not a healer,” the governor said hesitantly, “but what I understand he’s genetically more susceptible to the virus.”

Qui-Gon blinked, nonplussed. “He’s human, like you and I.”

The governor shrugged. “Environment determines evolution. True, we are all human, but there are enough genetic differences from planet to planet, that it makes us completely different.”

That was true enough, Qui-Gon acknowledged. “Obi-Wan was born to a family on a planet called Scot. It is an old Republic planet and he is not the first of his familial line to be a Jedi.”

The governor nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve never heard of it, but that’s not surprising. I know little about the many planets and species that make up the Republic and beyond.”

“It only matters now,” Qui-Gon told him, “because of Obi-Wan’s predicament. Anyone coming from Scot to assist might be susceptible as well.”

“Yes,” the governor said, “we have noted that in our transmissions to the Senate.” The governor paused. “You’ve been non-stop in our offices or with your apprentice at the hospital. Would you care to find someplace to sleep, refresh yourself?”

Qui-Gon was tired, he admitted that. He thought once they got planetside, determined the specifics, that perhaps they could shed the suits and take safety precautions to avoid infection. They would, after all, have to eat and relieve themselves eventually.

He had not eaten anything since they landed. When he wasn’t holed up with a government official going through dataslates of information to collate what was needed, he was at Obi-Wan’s bedside, watching over his feverish apprentice. Qui-Gon knew he wouldn’t be able to maintain this for however long he was now on this planet. Eventually the suit would have to come off and he would have to take his chances.

With his usual impulsiveness and a pang that Obi-Wan wasn’t here to chide him for it, Qui-Gon began to strip himself of his protective gear. The governor watched him and once Qui-Gon was unrestricted the man stood up from his chair, motioning Qui-Gon to follow him.

“We can test your blood as well, to see if you are equally susceptible as your apprentice. If you are, we will make sure you are as protected as we can make you. That will, however, restrict you to contact with very few people.”

“And I won’t be able to leave Drago Prime, until a vaccine or antibiotic that fights the virus is developed,” Qui-Gon added realistically.

The governor gave a somber, single nod. “Yes. Unfortunately.”

A small kiosk station within the government building was set up. A fully masked and gloved orderly was instructed to take a sample of Qu-Gon’s blood and send it to a lab for immediately processing. The orderly did as she was bid, giving Qui-Gon an apologetic expression even with her face half-covered. A small prick and it was over. Qui-Gon used his Force healing to seal the needle hole in his arm. He said nothing as the orderly placed a small sticky bandage over it anyway.

Next Qui-Gon was whisked to a small if comfortable bed chamber. The door closed behind him, trapping him here, and Qui-Gon allowed misery to engulf him. He was here until he was deemed safe. His beloved Obi-Wan lay in an impersonal hospital room, with impersonal if gentle healers trying to keep him alive. The young man’s unbelievably rapid reactions to being infected while in an environmental suit that only had a small hole in it seemed to confirm to everyone that the virus likely was transmitting mostly by air. He’d unwittingly led Obi-Wan into a petrie dish of potential death.

He knew he couldn’t have known. Not enough was known of the virus that would have given them warning of Obi-Wan’s intense susceptibility. All of this, however, did not lessen the guilt and fear Qui-Gon felt washing through him like a tidal wave. He’d known fear, he’d known despair and hurt many times over. This, though, with his heart being held unknowingly by Obi-Wan would destroy him if the younger Jedi died.

Qui-Gon felt tears leaking from his tightly closed eyes as he stood just inside the room. He did nothing to brush them away. ‘Force,’ he thought into the ether, ‘if you spare Obi-Wan, I will do all that you bid, damn the Code, damn the council and damn my own insecurities. I will tell Obi-Wan of my heart, make him see that I am true. That he is loved, cherished and wanted. Please, please let him wake, let him live.’

For the first time in his long life, the Force was silent and Qui-Gon knew agony.

* * *

Vokara Che never hurried. All would come in time and the Force. A pale blue Twi-lek, she was a Jedi Master and a master healer on the Temple of Coruscant. Her knowledge was respected and her orders obeyed without question when it came to her patients, Jedi and non-Jedi alike. Therefore, to see her all but Force-running through the corridors of the Healers Ward garnered a lot of surprise and dismay. Her Force aura was a chaotic mix of anger, frustration and, most alarming, a tinge of fear.

She skidded to a halt before the door of her office and slammed the pressure plate that would open the door. She was bursting in almost as soon as the door slid open. She was at the large desk computer before the door shut. Typing furiously, scrolling through text that her typing brought up, and scowling fiercely at what she read, she was a healer on a mission. A Jedi was on the brink of death, a death that could be avoided if only she could-

There! She spied the genome within Obi-Wan Kenobi’s DNA that had made him so dangerously susceptible to the Drago Prime virus. As suspected, most who hail from Scot, or have that ancestry, would be susceptible as well and should avoid Drago Prime at all costs. 

She then pulled up the DNA makeup of one Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn. For twenty minutes Vokara glared at all the information scrolling before her eyes, but it all told her the same thing. Jinn was not only immune, he was damned near impervious. Her eyes narrowed as she pulled up Jinn’s personal records. He hailed from a planet off the Rishi Maze, a small colony that had many years given up its attempt to terraform the planet and had left for easier and greener pastures. They had since scattered to the wind. Damn!

She sat back in her chair, scowling blindly at the multi-hued painting hanging on the opposite wall. She couldn’t go through the DNA of every Jedi, volunteer healer, and dignitary who could potentially be assigned to help Drago Prime with their current situation. It would take time they didn’t have.

Something occurred to her, something she wasn’t sure could be done. If Jinn was here on Coruscant, perhaps, but he wasn’t. Did Drago Prime have the ability to…

She slammed a hand down on her comm unit and barked out, “Council Chambers, I don’t care if they are currently in session with the Supreme Chancellor himself. Get me them.”

There was an indignant squawk on the other end of the line and then the silence that told Vokara that her orders had been obeyed.

The Council were too many to show through her desk holo, so she only got audio when the calm tones of the head of the Jedi Council, a Korun master named Mace Windu, answered. “Yes, Master Che?”

“I think I can make a vaccine using Jinn’s blood,” she ground out.

She imagined the silence she heard was dumbfounded but its length grated on her sense of urgency.

“How?” That was Even Piell, an officious know-it-all in Vokara’s opinion but she didn’t ever express it.

“Do you really want the full procedure laid out or do you want me to take a team I’ve vetted to be racially immune and get to Drago Prime and start trying to produce it?” she snapped irritably.

Windu’s voice smoothly came back, “A moment, Healer Che,” and the hold silence returned. She worked on releasing her agitation and sense of urgency into the Force and when Windu came back, she was more at ease, though she’d been unable to completely dispel the sense of urgency. “The Chancellor has agreed that you should leave immediately. We will arrange transportation as soon as you and your team are ready.”

She forbore muttering out loud that a healer should have been sent in the first place and said in a calm she didn’t feel, “I will begin gathering what is needed and will send for requisition once I arrive on Drago Prime and assess if anything further is needed.”

“May the Force be with you,” Windu said, or would have said if she didn’t cut off the transmission as he was still speaking. 

She lept into action, raising her voice as she exited her office, sending healers and apprentice healers scattering this way and that to do her bidding. Fifteen immune by racial biology healers were soon on their way, laden with whatever technology and medical supplies they could carry. A Republic craft waited for them and soon they were on their way.

Vokara didn’t allow herself a moment’s rest. She triggered the special comm frequency used by Master Jinn and waited with more patience than she felt she ought to have for him to answer.

“Jinn,” came the human Jedi’s basso rumble.

“This Vokara Che. A small team is headed to Drago Prime.” Here she paused. Did she tell him what she suspected? Would it be giving him hope where there might not be any? To hell with it. “I think we can make a vaccine.”

There was a slight pause before Jinn said, “That was quick. What do you know that the healers here do not?”

“They might be on my course, I just got there quicker. I think we can make a vaccine from you.”

She could almost see Jinn’s bearded face crease in confusion. She’d had the man in her infirmary enough over the years, it wasn’t hard to imagine. “How?” he asked with faint disbelief.

“You are genetically immune, just like your apprentice is genetically at increased risk.”

He seemed to mull that over. “Should I advise the healers here to begin looking into formulating a vaccine?”

She started to sneer her doubts regarding a small, backwater planet’s ability to do so but reigned in her arrogance, recognizing it for it was. “Yes. If they figure it out, we can concentrate our efforts on helping Padawan Kenobi.”

There was a great deal of relief in Jinn’s voice when he responded, “I shall advise the officials immediately then. I look forward to seeing you, Master Che.” He actually sounded sincere, considering he detested being under the care of healers during his own injuries and illnesses. “He is gravely ill,” Jinn all but whispered. She wished she could see his face. “I fear he may not live for you to arrive.”

Her heart clinched. Obi-Wan Kenobi was such a bright light in the Order. During his off-duty time, he was known for visiting the injured and ill in the Healer Wards, playing with the youngling clans, and training with the younger padawans and initiates. He had an easy smile and laugh, his Force presence serious but full of youthful joy, despite the hard life he lived as a Jedi-in-training. To lose Kenobi would be a blow to the Order.

Vokara swallowed audibly, “He’s strong, Master Jinn, in the Force as well as body. Now that you know you are immune, try to be with him as much as possible. Suffuse your Force presence into him, lend him your strength so that he may fight.”

“I will do what I can,” Jinn replied heavily with a hint of despair and doubt. “Jinn out.”

The comm unit blipped to let her know the transmission ended. She set her comm unit on the small table in front of her. She stared at it pensively.

Why did she feel that if she lost Kenobi, she lost Jinn as well?

She shivered at the premonition and try to sense in the Force the future that was often murky to her. Nothing came. May all the gods get her there in time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's a bit short, but it does what it needs to. :)

Qui-Gon reported Master Che’s supposition regarding his blood and it seemed to light a fire in everyone around him. More blood was taken from him, as much as he could give without being leeched dry. He gave willingly, munching on snacks and drinking juice to stave off weakness from giving so much blood. Labs all over the capital city were given his blood samples. The mention of the word ‘vaccine’ seemed to rejuvenate everyone he saw and spoke to. He went from an object of pity due to Obi-Wan’s condition to a messiah come to bring a miracle to the people of Drago Prime.

He’d been given leave to be with Obi-Wan in a room that was too small to have been an actual hospital room but likely a converted space of some kind due to space shortage. Obi-Wan’s chest rose and fell slightly and the padawan wheezed in air. His face was flushed with a high fever and his auburn, padawan-short hair was spiky with sweat. His hands twitched restlessly on the pale blue blanket tucked around him.

Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan’s hand in his and lifted it up for a surreptitious kiss. “Open your eyes, my Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon begged softly. “What color are they? Fierce green? Stormy gray? As changeling as your moods, my love.”

Obi-Wan’s eyelids didn’t so much as flutter at his master’s words. Since falling unconscious in Administer Yung’s office, Obi-Wan had been insensate. Any movement was done by orderlies and healers coming to check his condition, clean his body of sweat, change his sheets and blankets, and adjust the nutrient fluids being intravenously fed to Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon centered himself and settled into the Living Force. He drew what he could find into himself, linked into his training bond with Obi-Wan and pushed it into his apprentice’s Force aura. He was so deep, concentrating so hard he swore he heard a faint, “Master?” in Obi-Wan’s beautifully cultured tones.

“My Obi-Wan,” he returned, though whether out loud or through their bond he didn’t know. He sent a wave of love as well.

He continued to send wave after wave of the Living Force into Obi-Wan, blind to the world around him. He continued even though he felt Obi-Wan’s presence in the Force receded little by little. He grew desperate but didn’t know what else to do, following Master Che’s orders. He didn’t hear the alarms of the machines monitoring Obi-Wan’s condition. He didn’t hear the muffled shouts from orderlies and healers outside the room. He couldn’t ignore hands grabbing him, pulling him forcibly from his chair at Obi-Wan’s bedside, and he fell from his heavy Force trance when a slap on his face pierced his awareness.

“Master Jinn! Move!”

He drowsily came to himself even as he tried to gain his balance and feet as hands jerked him away from Obi-Wan and healers swarmed the young man’s bed. As he focused on what was before him, dread filled the pit of his stomach.

“Do we have an unused non-invasive ventilator?” shouted a healer Qui-Gon had never seen before. The room had no windows, he had no idea the time of the day or how long he’d been here. Likely the work shifts had changed.

“Yes!” called someone else and there was frantic pattering of footsteps away, presumably to fetch the needed equipment.

Qui-Gon’s eyes catalogued everything the healers around his beloved’s bed did. Words like ‘intubate’ and ‘acute respiratory failure’ caused a rising panic that he ruthlessly quashed. A cart with complicated machinery on it was rolled into the room and pushed close to the head of Obi-Wan’s bed.

“We don’t need to intubate, yet,” one of the healers said to Qui-Gon’s relief. “Get this set up, get him on it.” The orderlies and healers worked in smooth tandem, undoubtedly having done this many, many times in recent weeks. Tubes were placed in places on Obi-Wan’s body that made Qui-Gon shudder, thinking his apprentice looked like some strange part-droid, part-human hybrid. As the machine began to pump part room air/part oxygen into Obi-Wan’s lungs and the lungs then automatically expelling it, the room as one sagged with relief.

The healer who called for the ventilator watched Obi-Wan for a long minute before turning to Qui-Gon. Female, small, with sun-blond hair and eyes as blue as Qui-Gon knew his own to be, she turned to him with a compassionate look on her face.

“Will he live?” Qui-Gon croaked.

She hesitated then walked to him. She placed a hand on his limp arm and squeezed. “I don’t know,” she told him truthfully. “Sometimes at this point they live, sometimes they don’t. It depends on them, really. I wish-“ She stopped and grimaced behind her mask. “I wish I could offer more assurance, Master Jedi, I really do, but I can’t.”

He nodded numbly and stumbled against the wall at his back, sliding down it. He felt her eyes upon him, felt her compassion and pain for him in the Force, but his focus was on Obi-Wan. He heard her leave, heard the others leave as well, made no acknowledgement when one of the orderlies said they would return to check in a few minutes.

They’d been through so much, he and Obi-Wan. He could squarely blame himself for their chaotic first year together. Obi-Wan’s career in the Jedi could have been lost forever on Melida/Daan. Qui-Gon never should have given a thirteen-year-old, protective, passionate boy such an ultimatum. Yet the Force brought them back together, healed the rift between them and Obi-Wan with the Jedi. For over a decade Obi-Wan had been a bright shining light in Qui-Gon’s life: joking with his master, teasing his master, exasperated with his master, protecting Qui-Gon’s back in conflict after conflict, learning his lessons of being a peace keeper, defender and negotiator with ease and determination.

Never had Qui-Gon seen such a bright star as Obi-Wan Kenobi. When he realized he’d fallen in love with his apprentice, Qui-Gon had been overjoyed and disheartened. His own days were waning, while Obi-Wan’s were ascendant. That now, in his prime of life, the peak of his ability, Obi-Wan could be taken from Qui-Gon so arbitrarily made the Jedi Master unaccountably furious.

His hands clenched into fists and he surged to his feet. One hand automatically went to the lightsaber hanging on his belt, as it did when he sensed danger, but here the lightsaber would do no good, would help no one, protect no one. For the first time in his life, Qui-Gon felt helpless. No plan sprang forth, the Force did not call him to one action or another. 

He staggered to the chair he’d occupied and had been pushed aside by the healers as they worked to stabilize Qui-Gon’s bright and loving apprentice. He pulled it close to the bed, grasped Obi-Wan’s now still hand, lowered his broad forehead on the cool appendage and began to weep. He cried for Obi-Wan’s possible negated future, Qui-Gon’s lost chance to confess his adoration to Obi-Wan, their lost time together as master and padawan as well as friends and perhaps lovers. Despair tidal waved through him; he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. Faith, something he’d always had in plenty, dissipated like smoke.

A hand clasped his shoulder as he shuddered in his grief. “Master Jinn.” He heard the voice but was so deep in his loss, he didn’t respond. “Qui-Gon.” The voice penetrated, soothing and tinged with a hint of Force healing. He looked up, blinking through his tear-encrusted lashes to see Vokara Che standing over him.

She’d arrived, but too late, he thought bitterly.

“Don’t give up hope, Qui-Gon,” she told him, with a flash of pointed teeth in her fierce expression.

“I-I-“ he stuttered but couldn’t speak.

“I know,” she told him and he saw she did. “If I cannot save him, no one can.”

He turned away, watched the machine breath for his apprentice, and tried to regain some semblance of control before another Jedi Master.

“I need your help, though,” Master Che said as she walked to the other side of the bed, staring down at Obi-Wan and the various machines and tubes hooked up to him.

“How?” Qui-Gon whispered.

She looked up at him. “We will use the Living Force, the vaccine they’ve just finalized using your blood samples, and all the hope in the galaxy.”

“The vaccine works?” he asked.

She hesitated. “The Dragoan labs report that the controlled tests show it is viable. It’s better than the nothing they had before. They sent me the results just as we came out of hyperspace. I reviewed them quickly. I think it is as good as we are going to get at this time. Perhaps some future refinement but for so many, time is of the essence.”

“But it’s a vaccine,” he protested half-heartedly. “Not a cure for those already afflicted.”

She smiled at him. “Actually, it’s both.”

He frowned. “How can that be?”

She shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. But I’ll take whatever miracle the Force gives me without too many questions and so should you.” Her look hardened. “Now, eat something, drink something, meditate and center yourself. Obi-Wan is not at death’s door for the moment. We have time for that. I’m going to need every bit of your considerable ties with the Living Force to pull this off. Go.”

Qui-Gon reached out instinctively to the Force and felt something he hadn’t felt for days. Light, peace. Hope.

He stood, gave one last anguished look at his love and did as he was told. He knew Vokara wouldn’t leave Obi-Wan alone. If she needed him to be as refreshed as possible to save Obi-Wan’s life, then she’d get him that way.

He exited the small room Obi-Wan lay in and looked around for some sign of where to get food. His eye was caught by a cart full of vials. In his mind’s eye, they pulsed with life, a soft glowing yellow bright as Drago Prime’s sun. He knew without a doubt it was the vaccine/cure made from his blood.

Vial after vial was loaded into hypo syringes and taken into room after room. And the Living Force around him grew stronger, greener and full of life. The energy pulsed within him, deep to his core, and his steps were lighter as he moved down the corridor. A tired if exultant orderly pointed the way to the hospital cafeteria. He consumed a dry sandwich, a small tub of some sort of sweet pudding and an iced tea with a hint of some fruit in it.

The Living Force grew stronger every minute. The atmosphere within the hospital seemed less stressful and more lively. His bond with Obi-Wan was still disturbingly silent and it gave him a momentary pang of panic but he shoved it away. Obi-Wan would live. Qui-Gon would have his chance with the man he loved, he would not squander it.

Food consumed he found a small religious chapel down the hall from the cafeteria. It was peaceful and empty. He settled down on the carpeted floor in his most comfortable meditation pose and sank into the shining Living Force around him. 

Obi-Wan needed him. Qui-Gon would not fail.


	4. Chapter 4

Master Che looked up when Qui-Gon entered Obi-Wan’s sick room. The Twi’lek healer’s eyes went a little unfocused as she searched his Force aura and then she gave a small nod of approval. She pointed him back to the chair he’d been sitting in at Obi-Wan’s bedside and waited until he’d settled comfortably.

“I’ve administered the vaccine/cure,” she told him briskly. “Considering the rapid onset of his symptoms and his susceptibility to the virus, I don’t know how soon it will have any effect.” She spared him a glance before returning her attention to her patient and the monitors he was hooked to.

“What do you need me to do?” Qui-Gon asked calmly.

She smiled at him, canines gleaming briefly, before the smile faded away. “Immerse yourself in the Living Force. Draw it along your training bond to Obi-Wan. Infuse it into his Force aura as much as you can. We need to shore up his waning strength.”

“I was attempting to do that when this,” Qui-Gon gestured to the ventilator, “happened.”

Vokara frowned a moment at that but shook herself. “I see. It was likely nothing more than poor timing,” she told him. “I am certain this will work. I’ve seen it work in other circumstances of some similarity to this. There is no reason it won’t work now.”

Her determination and surety reassured Qui-Gon and he nodded acquiescence. At her nod, he sank into a light trance at first, settling himself into the Living Force before trying to use himself as a conduit into Obi-Wan. He shoved away the thought that Obi-Wan had always had difficulty sensing the Living Force. The younger Jedi’s strength was in the Unifying Force, sometimes called the Cosmic Force. Because of that he was prone to visions and precognition sometimes, a happenstance that rarely affected Qui-Gon with his high affinity to the Living Force.

His body throbbing with the Living Force’s power, Qui-Gon reached for the nascent training bond, ignoring how lifeless it was on Obi-Wan’s end. He imagined being able to grasp the link with his hands, a strand of ribbon of green and blue twined together, and sent gentle waves of the Living Force down it and into Obi-Wan. He continued even though there was no reaction, when Obi-Wan’s essence did not acknowledge it. Qui-Gon could feel Master Che’s presence strengthening him, shoring up his energy reserves with her own, knowing that this grueling work would deplete him after so much worry, stress and exhaustion.

The waves of the Living Force grew stronger, bulging the ribbon between he and Obi-Wan like a snake swallowing a rodent. He didn’t give into despair or feelings of failure. He just continued, over and over, on and on, giving all he could to the young man who had shown so brightly in his life for so long.

He had no concept of time. His sense of place faded. There was only he, Obi-Wan, their bond and the assistance of Master Che. Light surrounded his mind form a green as glowing as his lightsaber. And eventually, he could see in the distance that was Obi-Wan, a returning light of palest blue.

Heartened by the sight, he called out softly through their training bond. “Obi-Wan?”

And rejoiced when he heard an exhausted and faint, “Master?” in return.

“Take my strength, beloved,” he told his apprentice. “Draw from me.”

He continued to urge and soon Obi-Wan began to weakly take. The Living Force shimmered between them and as time progressed, Obi-Wan coalesced in this place the Force made for them. He was gaunt, his hair dulled, and his eyes sunken with illness. Yet he stood straight, unbowed, his cheeks no longer flush with fever, his green-gray eyes bright with life. The training bond ribbon between them shortened as Obi-Wan approached his master. When he was close enough, Qui-Gon swept him into his arms and held him close, continuing to push his strength into his flagging apprentice.

“You need to wake, my love,” Qui-Gon told him. “You have fought bravely, but help is here now. Wake and heal.”

Obi-Wan nodded against Qui-Gon’s shoulder and Qui-Gon released him, grasping his hands and towing the weakened smaller man forward into the light of reality behind him. One step, two steps, three, they moved slowly, Obi-Wan occasionally stumbling and Qui-Gon steadying him.

Qui-Gon opened his eyes and found himself slumped over Obi-Wan’s chest. Tears once again stained his cheeks. He levered himself up with the help of strong hands he realized belonged to Vokara and settled back in his chair. His eyes never strayed from Obi-Wan’s face.

Once she’d ascertained Qui-Gon was not going to collapse, Vokara turned her attention to his apprentice. She ran light hands over Obi-Wan, the Force swirling out, probing gently. She gave Qui-Gon a beatific smile and pushed the call button that would bring assistance. Two healers and an orderly appeared quickly.

“Remove Padawan Kenobi from the ventilator. Use it for someone else in need. He has turned a corner and will survive.”

The healers heartened and all three rushed forward to do as Healer Che bid. Once removed from the apparatus that helped Obi-Wan breathe, Qui-Gon saw she spoke true. Obi-Wan was breathing on his own, slow, deep and unhindered.

“Thank the Force,” he murmured in quiet benediction.

“Indeed,” Vokara said. She bustled about, tucking in the blanket here and wiping her patient’s no longer sweating brow there. The two of them waited patiently for Obi-Wan’s eyes to fluttered open, to see his master and smile weakly. He did so three hours later.

Master Che was all business then. Like the stern taskmaster she always seemed to be when they were in the Temple infirmary, she rapid fire questioned Obi-Wan on his condition. Could he move his limbs? How many fingers was she holding up? Open his mouth so she could see his tongue and throat. Do you know who I am? Who is your master? How old are you? On and on it went. Obi-Wan was bemused but answered them all with more patience than he’d ever shown to the healer before.

Satisfied that he was truly on the mend, Healer Che glared at both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. “He doesn’t move from that bed. If he needs to relieve himself,” she handed Qui-Gon a pitcher shaped object, “he uses that.”

Obi-Wan blushed a bright red. Qui-Gon hid a smile of delight. “He won’t twitch a muscle without permission,” he told the healer seriously. He ignored Obi-Wan’s indignant look.   
She sniffed and stalked out the door with a,” I’ve got other patients around here I can help with.”

As soon as she was safely out of earshot, Obi-Wan complained mildly, “You both realized I’m still hooked to a catheter?”

Qui-Gon smirked. “We know.” Obi-Wan harrumphed his displeasure. Qui-Gon turned his expression more serious and brushed his hand over Obi-Wan’s padawan buzzed copper hair. “It was a near thing, my apprentice,” he said.

Obi-Wan frowned a moment, not in irritation but as if thinking hard. “I remember,” he said slowly, as if dredging up a dim memory, “being called ‘beloved’ and ‘my love’.” He slanted a sly look at Qui-Gon.

“You remember correctly,” Qui-Gon confessed.

Obi-Wan faced him fully, his expression bland but his eyes now twinkling a mischievous green. “How long?”

Qui-Gon knew what he asked and thought about playing dumb but remembered his promise to the Force. “Around two years, give or take a few months.”

Obi-Wan blinked at the freely given confession and weakly reached for Qui-Gon’s hand. Qui-Gon gave it up willingly, shivering when Obi-Wan lightly traced the callouses on his palm from repeated lightsaber duels and practicing. He then focused on a round scar on top of Qui-Gon’s hand he’d gotten from some unknown incident as a child in the creche. 

“I was eighteen,” Obi-Wan said in a low tone. “On Urgit. The chancellor’s sister flirted with you the entire time we were there. She devoured you with her eyes. She’d have jumped into bed with you immediately if you’d shown the slightest interest. I couldn’t understand what I was feeling at first.” Obi-Wan looked up at Qui-Gon from under his golden lashes almost coyly. “Then I realized it was jealousy.”

Qui-Gon’s heart skipped a beat, pulsed, then skipped another. “I see,” he managed to croak.

Obi-Wan gave him a bright smile, his trademark bright smile that charmed all who saw it and always made Qui-Gon light up like a candle in the darkness. “Do you?” Obi-Wan asked almost playfully. “Would you care to act on it then?”

Qui-Gon would be a fool to pass up an invitation like that. While he could have been called a fool many times in his life, he wouldn’t be one now. He leaned over, took Obi-Wan’s face in his roughened, broad hands, and hovered his lips just over Obi-Wan’s for a moment.

Obi-Wan made a mew of protest and surged upward, sealing their lips together in a chaste, closed mouth kiss. He pulled away and then grinned. “I haven’t brushed my teeth in days. I probably won’t taste good.”

“I don’t care,” Qui-Gon told him truthfully and sank his mouth onto Obi-Wan’s, insistently brushing Obi-Wan’s lips with his tongue, demanding entry. Obi-Wan opened on a sigh and Qui-Gon swept in. Obi-Wan wasn’t wrong, his mouth had a metallic, sickly taste but to Qui-Gon, who had feared he would never have this moment, it was like the finest delicacy in the galaxy.

They explored, tit for tat, struggling for dominance, before they broke apart at an amused ‘ahem’. Qui-Gon looked over to see Administrator Yung smirking at them from the doorway of Obi-Wan’s room.

“I guess he’s all better?” she asked unnecessarily.

Qui-Gon hastily stood up and bowed deeply. “Thanks to the care of your people, Administrator Yung.”

She returned the bow a bit clumsily but responded, “Small price for the cure you brought us, Master Jinn.”

He grinned down at Obi-Wan, who was frowning at the exchange. “The Jedi live to serve, don’t we, Padawan?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan immediately responded.

“Our planet won’t soon forget it either,” Administrator Yung told them. “Shall I just shut the door so that you aren’t,” here she smirked again, “interrupted?”

Qui-Gon wasn’t sure how he kept his composure but he nodded. “It would be appreciated.”

Administrator Yung wagged a warning finger even as she shut the door behind her. “Don’t wear him out. He’s still recovering.” The door clicked shut, leaving them in peace.

“You found a cure?” Obi-Wan asked in bewilderment.

“Later,” Qui-Gon told him, leaning down for another kiss. “Later.”

* * *

It was another week before Obi-Wan was cleared to leave Drago Prime. The cure was quickly manufactured and spread across the planet. It was determined that anyone visiting the planet should be vaccinated once they landed if they were possibly susceptible. Qui-Gon managed to avoid a heartfelt, if embarrassing, tribute from a grateful planet, citing their care of his apprentice as more than compensation for the cure his blood had brought them. Such things, he told the government officials who met with him and Obi-Wan in the rooms they’d been allotted once Obi-Wan was released, were the will of the Force.

Once off planet and on their way back to Coruscant, Qui-Gon stepped into their assigned quarters to find Obi-Wan laying on the bunk. Like all bunks in starships it wasn’t large or very comfortable. What caught Qui-Gon’s attention so completely was that Obi-Wan was staring at him with a sultry expression and the Force thrummed with desire.

“Are you well enough for that?” Qui-Gon asked hesitantly.

Obi-Wan scowled a moment and then deflated. “Not really,” he confessed.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Qui-Gon told him, sitting on the bunk and running his hand up and down the leg closest to him. 

“But?” Obi-Wan hiked an eyebrow.

Qui-Gon gave a wolfish smile. “You’re going to need all your strength when we do,” he told him.

Obi-Wan swallowed audibly, green/gray eyes going dark at the thought.

“In the meantime,” Qui-Gon said in his most Bastard-Master-Being-Cheerful tone, “you were instructed by Healer Che to work on your stamina. Meet me in the cargo bay. Bring your lightsaber.”

Obi-Wan groaned. “I’d rather just fuck,” he said bluntly.

Qui-Gon smirked. “Soon enough, Padawan Mine, soon enough,” he promised. “We have all the time in the world.”

“You better be as good as you promise,” Obi-Wan complained, waiting to move off the bunk after Qui-Gon stood up.

Qui-Gon gave him another wolfish smile, leaned in and whispered in Obi-Wan’s ear, causing the younger man to shiver, “I’m better.”

Obi-Wan turned his head and snuck a quick kiss. “I’ll hold you to that, my master.” His features turned besotted, making Qui-Gon shiver now. “My Master in all things, apparently.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Qui-Gon told him. He waited until Obi-Wan belted his lightsaber, took the younger man by the hand and towed him out the door.

Qui-Gon had no intention of ever disappointing his apprentice in those lessons.

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting my feet back into the SW Prequel fandom. Plus I'd never written Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan before the twenty years ago I was in the fandom. I'd just barely been introduced to slash and was uncomfortable with it at the time. Obviously, if you've perused at all any of my other fics on AO3, I got over that problem. LOL! So this is me dipping my toe back into the Prequel waters. It's not my usual in-depth writing, but I was sick when I wrote this and was just purging my misery through my writing. But thanks to all who have left kudos and comments! It's much appreciated!


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